


tabula rasa

by ssuppositiouss



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Suggestive Themes, Vampire Bill Cipher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssuppositiouss/pseuds/ssuppositiouss
Summary: After centuries of boredom, it is during a pointless trip to the museum that vampire Bill Cipher catches a whiff of the most delectable little human.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 26
Kudos: 228





	tabula rasa

**Author's Note:**

> in honor of me never growing out of my vampire phase (and I think the new Twilight book is being released nearly a decade after my original enjoyment of it), take this clearly-inspired-by-twilight fic wherein literally nothing happens*
> 
> *sparkles not included

Bill is in the middle of his afternoon snack when he smells it. The scent is heavenly, something he’s never before had the pleasure of smelling, let alone _tasting_. The blood in his mouth is suddenly no longer satisfying, the hunger he’d previously satiated back with a stronger force, burning, twisting his stomach to remind him that his mouth is dry, his body desperate.

Forgotten, the human in his arms is dazed, clutching at the sleeves of Bill’s jacket as he tries to pull the vampire back toward him.

_Why did you stop? You can take everything from me, you feel so good, you make me feel. . ._

“Please, I—”

“Thank you for your services,” Bill says with a bow, his fangs glinting in the florescent museum lighting. He licks the blood off his lips, frowns. Even the way this blood _feels_ is nothing compared to the scent drifting through the museum now. It’s too thick, too. . . bland. His appetite is back at full force, a reminder that he _wants_ more. They’re in one of the storerooms of the Museum of Gravity Falls History, where the cameras can’t quite see them. Boxes shield Bill’s face well. He’d planned for this when he stole this man from the lobby and tempted him back here.

 _Please, don’t stop, I need._ . .

“You were. . . acceptable,” he exaggerates. This one will be too clingy, unfortunately. He hates the humans that are like this. He pats the human’s shoulder, then, with a quick wink at the camera that won’t see this murder, he snaps the human’s neck.

The body slumps to the floor unceremoniously. Bill kicks it aside with the toe of his shoe and heads out of the storeroom.

Acceptable is a kind way of putting it. The man’s blood was mediocre at best, nothing more than ash on his tongue once he’d caught a whiff of whoever walked past his hiding spot.

He slinks his way toward the scent, filtering through the thoughts of the people he passes.

_This is the lamest history museum I’ve ever been in—_

_If I have to give this tour one more time, I think I’ll. . ._

_I wonder if the museum food court has themed cupcakes!_

He doesn’t know whose thoughts to follow, but the scent is a beacon of its own, beckoning to Bill so he is nothing more than a bee to a precious flower. This human’s blood will taste so sweet.

The smell leads to a human of average height and average looks—messy brown hair under a silly blue cap, pale skin dotted with healing scrapes and bandages, socks slipping down skinny ankles. He doesn’t even stand straight, feet pointed slightly inward, awkward in every sense of the word. He’s nothing special, and yet his scent is the most delectable thing Bill has ever encountered.

Bill tries to focus on the human’s thoughts, forcing away the _I wonder if I bring my date here—_ and the _Why did I think the Gravity Falls museum would be interesting—_ to hear. . . nothing.

He completely stops walking, visibly surprised, when he realizes it’s deathly silent.

How strange. . .

He glares at the human’s head, muting the surrounding voices ( _This painting is so cool!_ and _I could glue together something better than this!_ ) so he’s entirely focused on the source of his confusion.

 _Nothing_.

Either humans have gotten even _dumber_ and this human isn’t thinking _anything_ —which is very, very likely, since the humans of Gravity Falls are worth so little and have tiny brains with useless thoughts—or Bill genuinely _can’t_ read his mind. He’s more inclined to think it’s the former.

After all, Bill is a vampire with talents of the _mind_. He can compel, and read minds, and influence dreams. He’s powerful, stronger than any vampire could hope to be. As an original vampire, around for a bit over six centuries, he has been honing his craft while he feeds off human blood daily.

There’s no way this _pathetic_ , average meatsack is _shielding his mind_ from the great Bill Cipher!

The silence continues. Bill clenches his hands into fists. While his scent is positively _tantalizing_ , the fact that his mind is a mystery is more enticing than his blood.

Who does this stupid little human think he is?

Bill’s increased senses pick up on the man’s mumbling, and he homes in on the human’s words, trying to understand what he’s missing, why he can’t even hear the slimmest whisper of this stranger’s secret thoughts.

“This must be a map of some kind, maybe if I just. . .” The human scribbles vigorously in his notebook, turning the book to a different angle and holding it up to the museum exhibit. It’s the carving of the park’s statue, which Bill turned upside down some decades before, just to see what trouble he could stir. “Hmm. . .”

He reminds Bill of—

Bill saunters up to the stranger, smiling pleasantly. Standing this close to the human makes his mouth water. He can see even the slightest details of this man’s appearance at this angle, the quick pulse of his blood through the veins at the pale skin of his neck. “Are you trying to solve the mystery of the town’s founding?”

“Oh! I, uhh. . .” Beautiful, inviting _red_ stains the human’s cheeks, the scent flooding Bill’s senses even further. He licks his lips, imagines the taste melting on his tongue. Somehow, this average man has the most delicious looking skin, the flush burning the tips of his ears down to his neck. “You know about that?”

Bill knows about a lot of things. It’s easy to know about a lot of things, considering he had been present for the town’s founding. He’s been stuck in Gravity Falls since that wretched witch set a curse on him centuries ago, and he’d been so close to being freed if not for Sta—

“Are you familiar with the weeping statue, too?” The human’s voice goes a pitch too high, then cracks as he finishes speaking. “I get the feeling they’re related, but. . .”

“They aren’t.” Bill extends a hand. He only introduces himself with his true name when he knows his victim won’t be blabbing to anyone. While he can’t read this human’s thoughts, Bill doesn’t have any intention of leaving him alive after he gets a taste. He wonders if leaving humans chained up in basements is too old-fashioned. And this one isn’t too bad on the eyes, the longer Bill looks at him. It’s quite tempting to keep his blood around every time Bill craves it.

But then, after a taste of something so _magnificent_ , will any other human’s blood compare?

“Bill Cipher,” he introduces, daring the human to give in.

“How would you know?” The man fumbles to shut his notebook, smiling awkwardly, if not charmingly, as he shoves it under his arm and shakes Bill’s hand. The human’s hand is warm, soft. His fingers are delicate, leading to skinny little wrists. If Bill holds his hand too hard, he’ll surely _snap_. “About the statue, I mean.”

Humans are oh-so- _breakable_.

“I could tell you,” Bill grins, “on the way to the cemetery.”

“Well.” The human glances at the statue, then back at their hands. “The fact that you know the statue is there makes your invitation _slightly_ less creepy.” He gives Bill a little half smile, brightening the soft features of his face—he’s so many centuries younger than Bill, the smile could be endearing if it didn’t make him so _vulnerable_ —and Bill feels something strange churn in him. Odd. “I’m Dipper.”

“Dipper.” Bill lets the name roll on his tongue, stretching his lips into his wide, venomous smile. “Glad I’m not too _creepy_ for you.”

Creepy. Dangerous. _Predatory_.

The human shivers, but Bill can’t assess his thoughts to see if it’s due to Bill’s presence or his temperature. He hasn’t realized how reliant he’s become on his powers of the mind.

“Your hands are freezing!” Dipper exclaims, to answer Bill’s silent question.

Bill laughs, making sure it’s his charismatic laugh. He’s reluctant to let go of Dipper’s hand, as though this electric touch will give insight to his mind. It doesn’t, but Bill doesn’t want to release him, all the same. “Poor circulation. I’m anemic.”

 _Anemic_. Blood doesn’t run through him at all.

“Do you need, like, a snack or something? I heard people with anemia. . .” He chatters about _something_ , but Bill is caught on the offer of a _snack_.

Despite gorging himself on the human in the museum’s back room, he’s more than hungry enough to drain Dipper of his life. He would be an excellent _snack_. His smell is heavenly, surely the most appealing scent to ever exist for a vampire.

“I’m fine, Pine Tree.”

“Pine Tree?” Dipper touches his cap unsurely, and Bill nods. Calling the humans by silly nicknames makes it that much easier to hurt them. They aren’t any more than food, aren’t worth his time.

But _this_ human. . .

It’s a bit frustrating, not being able to read the mind of a pathetic little _human_. Dipper is so much smaller than Bill, only at Bill’s chest, and his small frame will easily _break_ in Bill’s hands. Dipper bites his lip self-consciously, his lower lip a pretty pink.

Oh, it will be so easy to _kill_ him.

“You said you know about the weeping statue?”

“If you pull her finger,” Bill leans closer toward the human, breathing in the sweet smell of his blush, the soft scent of his skin, “there’s an underground passage to a secret study.”

He’ll taste _exquisite_.

Dipper lights up, scrambling to take notes. “I wonder how no one noticed _that_. Someone had to have cleaned the statue at some point, you’d think?”

Bill rolls his eye. “The people of Gravity Falls?” They’re quick to forget the town’s mysteries when Bill compels them to think otherwise. He’s setting the stage for something grander than their puny minds can comprehend. He and Stanford were on the path to something _grand_.

“You have a good point.” Dipper glances up at Bill, quirking a smile. “But it does make you think about the technology they had in the founding days.”

He’s so much like Stanford, it _almost_ makes Bill want to keep Dipper around.

Almost.

“Have you been exploring the town’s mysteries by yourself?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time learning about Gravity Falls, Pine Tree.” Bill has nothing _but_ time. He certainly doesn’t have any friends, except for the vampires who can’t enter Gravity Falls until he breaks the barrier trapping him here. Exploring Stanford’s mind was the closest to escape he’s had in a long time, and that was _decades_ ago.

“Most people don’t believe there’s more to this town than meets the eye.” Dipper looks like he’s examining Bill, but his thoughts remain woefully silent. Does he know something?

“I get the feeling there’s more to _you_ than meets the eye.”

Dipper’s face paints bright red again, and Bill laughs, inhaling his sweet, delicious scent. It’s so, so easy.

“Are you familiar with the Secret Mausoleum?” Bill smiles wide, his grin menacing with the sharpness of his teeth. Depending on the lighting, his eye glows bright gold.

“I. . .” Oh, what Bill would _give_ to know what the human is thinking. Does he know about the Cipher Cemetery? Why is he so curious about the town? How has Bill never noticed him before? How is he _shielding_ his mind from the most powerful being in _centuries_? “I haven’t heard about that.”

It’s where the Cipher family was rumored to have ‘buried’ him. “Tell you what, Pine Tree, why don’t we make a deal?”

“A deal.” Dipper has large brown eyes, the color soft and inviting, like he holds all the world’s curiosity in his gaze. His cheeks are spattered with freckles, the tip of his nose perpetually pink. Bill doesn’t know why he thought this boy was average, initially. Dipper makes a small sound of surprise. “ _That_ ’s a little creepy.”

He smiles and leans down, like he has a secret to tell, a whisper to caress his cheek. Dipper is playing into Bill’s plans so _easily_ , he doesn’t even need his power.

They’ll go to the mausoleum together, and he’ll take what he wants from the human when it’s just them, so Dipper can make all the pretty, delicious sounds he’d like, and Bill can touch and take and _savor_ what he wants. He’ll just let his lips graze the pretty arch of Dipper’s pale throat, let his hot blood flow into his mouth. “If you want, I—”

_Bill Cipher!_

A six-fingered hand clamps down on Dipper’s shoulder, tugging him away from Bill. The human falls over at the touch, stumbling downward if not for his twin catching him before he hit the ground.

What a shame it would be, if the human falls and hurts and bleeds. Bill sighs. What a shame, such a _shame_. . .

Dipper looks almost dazed as he glances from Bill to Stanford. His cheeks are still flushed from his conversation with Bill, his thoughts ever so elusive. His twin, oddly enough, is not the same mystery. The sister’s thoughts are bright, her voice bubbly and sweet as her thoughts fizz and burst with color and light. _Who is_ this _, Dip-Dop? Snagging all the hotties in the museum of all places!_

“Step aside, kids!”

“Sixer! How’s it been?” How does _Stanford_ know this delicate little bloodbag, anyway? “Haven’t seen you since our hor _rible_ little _breakup_!”

Of course, Dipper’s thoughts remain silent. How un _nerving_. In his six centuries of life, Bill has never encountered a human whose thoughts he couldn’t read. There were very few minds he’d enjoyed in Gravity Falls. He’d enjoyed Stanford’s thoughts, before he’d caught on to Bill’s plans and mangled with his own mind to keep Bill away. The lack of thoughts Dipper shares is unique in its own way.

_He’s cute! I wonder how Grunkle Ford knows this hunk of—_

Stanford’s snippets of thoughts are darker, burned on the edges: _Not Dipper. . . I should have. . . Bill. . ._

Dipper looks between the two, eyes thoughtful at Bill’s apparent age of his late twenties, and Stanford’s age of nearly seventy. “Wait, I. . . How _old_ were—”

“Ohmygosh! Grunkle _Ford_!” The girl exclaims almost scandalously, when she follows her brother’s train of thought. _Is_ that _why Grunkle Ford is so mad? Could barely keep up with his running. . ._

Stanford flushes pink, and Bill chortles in laughter. _Stupid. . . The kids think. . . Don’t realize. . ._

Since he had the metal plates installed, his thoughts have been a bit harder to follow. The occasional phrase still filters through, though, unlike Dipper’s mind. Did Stanford have plates installed in Dipper’s head, as well? But why not the sister?

From Stanford’s threads and the twin’s bursts of thoughts, he pieces together that the girl’s name is Mabel, that Stanford is their great uncle, that they’re simply visiting for the summer. Stanford seems worried. He knows that Bill can read their minds, but he doesn’t seem to realize that Bill can’t read Dipper.

Well, well, _well_. Bill’s smile widens. Well, well, well.

“What are you doing here, Bill?” Stanford definitely has a weapon or two in his pocket, and Bill raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Can’t a man peruse the museum,” he leers at Dipper, whose cheeks burn a bright, tantalizing red, filling the air with his sweet scent, “ad _mire_ the pretty little masterpieces. . .”

 _Oooh, look at you, Dipper!_ Mabel elbows him in the stomach. “Oww! Mabel!” _Attracting some attention, after all!_

Stanford looks disgusted, horrified. _Absolutely not. . . Bill better. . . Can’t believe I. . ._ If Stanford could only recognize how much of a _curiosity_ Dipper is.

Bill doesn’t want to kill Stanford. He’s the only person who can break the curse keeping him trapped in this godforsaken town. But he has no such qualms about Dipper, who smells like he was personally crafted to gift Bill with the most exquisite meal of his long life.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps years of suffering in a pathetic town of _imbeciles_ have reminded a higher power that _Bill deserves better_. That must be why Bill has never seen this human until now.

“Dipper, Mabel, I want you to go back to the shack.”

“But—”

“Why—”

“We’re just two old friends catching up, Sixer and I!” Bill’s smile doesn’t drop, though his gaze is still on Dipper. His scent flares, a beacon to Bill’s desires. “We can chat _later_.”

Or, they can chat now. Stanford’s shack is protected with spells and magics meant to ward off vampires. Bill hasn’t been able to invade Stanford’s mind in years, hasn’t been able to go _near_ that dilapidated building in _ages_. Chances are, Stanford won’t let the twins out of there, once they’re free from Bill’s sight.

He needs to plan. As soon as they return to the Mystery Shack, the twins will likely never be left to roam the town freely again. He doesn’t want to kill Stanford, _yet_.

So. . . If he kills the human girl _first_ , that would leave a museum full of witnesses and would give Stanford ample time to grab Dipper and run. Too much time, and he’d lose the two humans he’s most interested in keeping. If he kills _Dipper_ first, the ensuing fight with Stanford and the witnesses he’d have to eliminate would leave too much time for Dipper’s _tantalizing_ blood to go cold.

And Bill wants to savor his taste of Dipper, wants to make him _scream_ and _beg_ and _share his pathetic human thoughts_ before he sinks his fangs into Dipper’s fragile white neck.

_Looking at Dipper. . . Need to. . ._

_This was supposed to be a_ boring _day at the museum!_

“We were just talking about the angel statue,” Dipper interrupts, glancing between Stanford and Bill. He takes Mabel’s hand and tugs her behind him, as though his delicate human body offers any sort of protection from a centuries-old vampire. Perhaps he’s lucky that Bill has no interest in her, then.

Does Dipper even _know_ what Bill is? Does he realize what he’d been doing during their conversation, showing off his pretty smell, his hidden secrets, the puzzle that he _is_? Bill laughs again, the sound echoing through the museum. The day has been getting more and more interesting.

 _Oooh, whatever went on between them must have been_ serious _!_ Mabel is brighter than she let on, and she has a strength in her stance that Dipper doesn’t quite possess. The Pines family is quite the enigma, isn’t it? _We should probably leave. . ._

Dipper starts pulling Mabel with him, to head out of the museum. Despite his lack of strength, he appears to be the leader between the two, at least when it comes to protecting his family.

Bill watches idly as Stanford pulls out the stake from his pocket and directs it at Bill. In near slow motion, as Stanford aims to hurt him, Dipper stumbles on his shoelace. Before Mabel is able to catch him, Bill darts forward and steadies him, simultaneously pulling himself out of Stanford’s attack but also giving him access to his sweet-smelling human.

He meets Dipper’s wide brown eyes with his own gaze. His brings his face mere centimeters away, so he can feel the hot breath of Dipper’s exhale, smell the fragrance of blood rushing to his cheeks.

“I’ll see you around, _Pine Tree_.”

“Uhh. . .” Dipper coughs, clears his throat. No words escape his lips, no thoughts run through his mind. Beautiful.

_My nephew. . . Bill. . ._

Mabel yanks her brother out of Bill’s grip, pulling him toward the museum entrance. Dipper trips as she pulls him along, and Bill laughs and laughs.

 _Grunkle Ford has a_ lot _of explaining to do!_ “Who was _that_ , Dipper?”

Stanford keeps his stake poised to kill. _Keep Bill_. . . _Dare_. . . He isn’t subtle about his plan to keep Bill occupied and away from Dipper and Mabel until they’re out of harm’s way. Bill could _easily_ knock Stanford away and steal Dipper for himself, but he’s curious.

What will Stanford offer to keep his nephew _safe_?

What deals can he manipulate out of Stanford, before breaking his false promises (again) and stealing Dipper for himself?

Dipper glances back at Bill just once, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks a delectable pink, before following his sister out of the building and away from Bill entirely. His mind remains a mysterious blank slate, and Bill licks his lips, venom gathering in his fangs. He can only imagine the wet, delicious heat in his mouth, Dipper’s pretty little lips parted in a shout, supple body pressed against his tormenter as he surrenders himself and opens his _mind_ and shares his everything. . .

Bill’s body _aches_ as he thinks of draining the human. He wants to make Dipper _scream_. He wants every drop of his breakable _life_. He wants _Dipper_.

“Bill Cipher!”

How _fascinating_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing all these fics but somehow in all of them nothing happens other than Bill thinking creepy things about Dipper lol oops
> 
> I hope someone enjoyed! :')
> 
> (talk billdip to me on [tumblr](http://ssuppositiouss.tumblr.com)!)


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